Invisible Restraints
by Sephielya J. Maxwell
Summary: One of the first lessons that Lithuania learned from Russia was to be helpless. Something he had to... adjust to.


Posting my kink!meme fills here. I went as Liet!Anon there!

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There was a time when Lithuania would resist. A time when his voice would protest in his own language, or maybe even Polish, anything but Russian. Those times, he would grab a hold of anything that he could reach—Russia's shoulders, his arms, his hands, and push just as hard as he could away from him. Even if he only slowed him down, he would try it. But Russia didn't take resistance well.

Lithuania was strong, or at least, he had been. In his time both before and alongside Poland, he was tactical and tenacious. And so it was with a bitter swallowing of pride that he watched his glorious haven slowly destroyed, mercilessly cut apart by Russia, Prussia, and Austria. He was told that he was given the more merciful fate, being mostly owned by Russia instead of divided into many. But there nothing to be relieved about, once he started defying Russia from within his own house.

If he was lucky, Russia would use leather restraints. But even those cut into his flesh after a day or two of tugging uselessly at them. He tasted blood at the corners of his mouth from the gag, and his eyes had become so accustomed to the dark that he winced at a single candle light—as rare as it was that he would get that for days on end. When it started out, he wasn't treated with particular cruelty—despite the restraints.

Russia's hands would lift him gently, sit him up carefully—hands behind his back and ankles lashed together tightly. He would drape a blanket about his naked shoulders and slowly remove the gag. His cool, soft lips would kiss the sores at the corner of Lithuania's mouth—that is after Liet had learned not to snap at him with teeth. And Lithuania would drink from the glass that was lifted to his lips—water, water to quench his too-dry throat and wash down the metallic zing of blood. He would sip from the spoon offered to him, take a bite of the bread. If he didn't, he wouldn't be given it again for over a day. Not that he knew for sure, for he couldn't see a clock with his blindfold on—only hear it endlessly tic and tok. What he knew was that his hunger would build until his stomach ached and his head throbbed with pain.

Personal needs were the worst, the most humiliating. Russia seemed to have no qualms about any of it, but shame would burn across Liet's cheeks as tears soaked through his blindfold. Perhaps that was how he first got used to the feeling of those large hands across his bare flesh. That was the other thing about leather—it didn't rust. Blessedly warm water tickling over his shoulders as Russia squeezed out the rag over them. His breath was hot and sometimes heavy across the nape of Lithuania's neck, but if he so much as protested that he would be promptly carried back to the bed, soaking wet, and left to dry in the cold room without a blanket. If he was good, he would be washed by lingering hands, ignoring the rather obvious sounds of what the blond's other hand was doing behind him. Pride wasn't worth the suffering he'd have to go through if he acknowledged it.

And then, worst of all, was when those hands had turned to him in the same manner. On the bed, hands lashed above his head and ankles together and attached to the end of it, he could do little more than writhe. Warm, silky lips and a slick, wet tongue swept over his nipple as two calloused fingertips rolled the other one playfully. "No!" Lithuania would beg, blindfold wet with tears again. But his torture would continue instead of stop this time, glorious and pleasurable. Hands roaming his bare skin as if he had been there a hundred times—and he had. Mapping out each and every place that made Lithuania's wiggle and groan, despite his best efforts to keep himself silent. That hungry mouth sucking gently at the crook of his neck, until it stung as it rose a mark. At the same time, he could feel a clothed thigh, so much larger than his own, force its way between his bound legs. Any pain in his ankles would be forgotten with the touch of that harsh fabric to his sensitive arousal—and he would silently curse his body for betraying him in such a way.

His nipples were pinched and rolled until they were sore from it, Russia's breath hot and heavy once again, but this time he could feel the evidence of his captor's arousal for himself, pressed firmly against his hip. It made him sick with terror, dreading the day that this would become more than teasing. And whenever he begged for it to stop, eventually, it would. With Lithuania hanging right on the edge, whimpering as Russia pulled away to finish for himself, and he could do nothing but listen. The hot, wet splash of Russia's seed across his stomach and chest never ceased to bring the highest humiliation. And then he was left like that for hours, unable to so much as turn around to rub against the sheets, until his own arousal faded away into nothing. Only then would Russia return to bathe him.

Finally, he stopped protesting the touches. The days (nights?) that he remained quiet other than to moan and writhe between those teasing hands, arching, bucking into that warm, solid thigh, he was allowed release. He had thought that feeling Russia's essence on his skin was humiliating, but his own was scalding with shame. What was he becoming?

Of course, Russia was not finished. He couldn't even remember the first time one of Russia's hands traveled down between Lithuania's sweat-slick thighs to press against his entrance. Back arched, he'd screamed at him. "No, not that! Stop, stop! Leave me here, I don't care, just—!" But of course he had not stopped. Fingers filled him, one by one, each of them wiggling until the pain had dulled. They pressed in, impossibly deep, searching and finding the spot that made his hips arch up off of the mattress all on their own. His cries became breathless begging, pleading for him to stop—_before I give in, _was his added silent plea. He wasn't given the mercy of being left alone after that. Each time that Russia's fingers penetrated him, they stayed until he came, sobbing, and sighing in pleasure.

He was being driven insane.

Each time he was touched innocently became tense for him. The kisses to his sore mouth became a sweet affection instead of a silent apology, 'I have to do this' as Russia had said once. Bathing was the worst, with Lithuania so tense that he trembled the entire time. But Russia's hands didn't linger in the bathes anymore, and he didn't touch himself either. Bathing had regained what innocence that it could, but the nights were becoming worse.

And then the night came when Lithuania hadn't protested at all. He moaned sweetly, and moved into every touch he was given. It was impossible to tell how long it had been, weeks, months, a year? How long had he been blind and helpless to everything but Russia's hands? That night, Liet was shocked to feel his ankles being unlashed. He froze, uncertain. Russia moved slowly, fingers trailing over skin that was bruised and aching from the leather straps. Those calloused fingertips trailed upwards, to the insides of Lithuania's thighs. Swallowing hard and trembling, Liet slowly spread them apart. Russia had removed his clothing in a hurry—the sound of that and the feel of the bed shaking was testament to that enough. And then bare, wide hips took the place of those hands, and the brunette turned his head to the side and whimpered.

He thought he would die as Russia's length filled him, a cry issuing forth from his throat that was loud and broken. So, _so _much more than those fingers had been! Lips pressed over his own, and for the first time in a long time, he thought about biting. But he feared the punishment this time if he did. If it hurt that much going in, how much more pain could be brought? However, in the time that it took to break the kiss for air, the pain had begun to dull. The first thrust rocked his smaller body on the bed, and hands pressed at the headboard as Russia gripped his hips. The second thrust was even harder, even deeper, and he cried out in something not completely pained. Shame was temporarily forgotten in place of mindless lust as he was taken, and it wasn't long until he moved his hips in time, thighs pressed tightly to Russia's sides as he moaned with every thrust.

_This. _This is what sex was supposed to be? He'd had no choice and yet his body was burning with desire, betraying him with every jolting and powerful thrust. It was still painful, he suspected it might always be. Russia was quickly getting carried away, and his fingers were bruising as they tried to hold the brunette's body in place, but pleasure was always present. "_Please..."_ Lithuania had begged out loud as he felt the knot tightening in his stomach. Russia's length was brushing that sweet place inside of him that his fingers had previously teased. "Please, please...!" he cried desperately. And the blond seemed to remember him then, long fingers wrapping around his captive's neglected length. It wasn't long before Lithuania came, harder than he could ever remember previously. And Russia had stroked him until he was spent, and continued to thrust into his body until he too reached his climax. The blindfold was lifted from his eyes as Russia panted, and half-lidded green eyes had looked into violet. He could have sworn that they were about spill with tears, but then, that could have just been his own watering eyes.

The next morning, Lithuania had woken to the bright morning light, wincing and covering his eyes. It was then that he discovered that he was unbound, and alone in the large room. Sitting up to let the blankets pool about his waist, he flushed with shame as he felt the dried mess between his thighs. It looked as if he'd have to bathe himself now—rather, that he _could. _The restraints were nowhere to be seen, but somehow, he could still feel them on him. Every time that he so much as felt Russia's presence, he would _know. _Nothing could erase he effect that this time had taken on him, not now.

Not even when Russia's insanity had begun to take a firmer hold on the towering nation. Lithuania simply adjusted them, and learned to endure. And each time that his people dreamed of freedom, he dreamed it too. Even as the years went by, and the effect of the restraints lessened, he was and always would be helpless against the Russian. Even in freedom.


End file.
